A Daughter of Fife

Sea-gulls are screaming.

Many a hearth round that friendly shore
Giveth warm welcome;
Charms still are there, as in days of yore,
More than of mountains;
But hearths and faces are seen no more
Once of the brightest.

Many a poor black cottage is there
Grimy with peat smoke;
Sending up in the soft evening air
Purest blue incense,
While the low music of psalm and prayer
Rises to heaven.

Kind were the voices I used to hear
Round such a fireside,
Speaking the mother tongue old and dear,
Making the heart beat
With endless tales of wonder and fear,
Of plaintive singing.

Reared in those dwellings have brave ones been;
Brave ones are still there;
Forth from their darkness on Sunday I've seen
Conning pure linen,
And, like the linen, the souls were clean
Of them that wore it.

Blessings be with ye, both now and aye,
Dear human creatures!
Yours is the love no gold can buy.
Nor time wither.
Peace be to thee and thy children, O Skye!
Dearest of Islands!"

"That is not one of your fisher songs, David?"

"Na, na; it is a sang made aboot Skye, and our mither was a Skye woman; sae Maggie learned it to please her. I dinna think much o' it."

"It is the most touching thing I ever heard." The melody was Gaelic, slow and plaintive, and though Maggie gave the English words with her own patois, the beauty and simplicity of the song was by no means injured. "Put by the books, David," said Allan. "I have no heart now for dry-as-dust lessons. Let us speak of Maggie. How is she going to live when you go to Glasgow?"

"She will just bide where she is. It is her ain hame, and she is amang her ain folk."

"Surely she will not live alone?"

"Na, na, that wed gie occasion for ill tongues to set themsel's to wark. Aunt Janet Caird is coming to be company for her. She is fayther's sister, and no quite beyond the living wi'. I thocht o' taking the boat the morn, and going for her."

"Where to?"

"About twenty miles to the nor'ward, to a bit hamlet, thae call Dron Point."

"What kind of a woman is she, David? I hope she is kind and pleasant."

"We can hope sae, sir; but I really dinna expect it. Aunt Janet had a bad name wi' us, when we were bairns, but bairns' judgment isn't to lippen to."

"I think it is. If you have any fear about Aunt Janet being good to live with, don't go for her."

"The thing is a' settled between her and oursel's. Maggie and I talked it o'er and o'er. There wasna any other thing to do. All o' oor kin but Aunt Janet hae big families o' their ain to look after. Maggie willna hear tell o' leaving the cottage, and she canna stay in it her lane. Sae, she must tak' the ill and gude thegither."

"For my own sake I am glad she stays in the cottage, because I wish to keep possession of my room. Your face need not cloud, David; I am not coming here at all; but it is inconvenient for me to remove my books, and the many sea-treasures I gathered during my stay with you. If I did remove them, I should have to store them in some other place, so it will be a kindness, if you will continue to rent me the room."

"Your foot is aye welcome in my house, sir; and when you are wanting a week's fishing, there is naething to prevent you taking it, if Aunt Janet is here. She is a vera strict pairson; the deil himsel' wouldna be suspected o' wrang-doing, if she were watching him."

"Poor Maggie! David, it does seem a hard lookout for her; especially when you will be so happy with your books, and I am going on a two years' pleasure trip to America."

David's face brightened involuntarily, and Allan could see that the thought of his certain absence was not at all displeasing. But he did not blame him for a fear so brotherly and natural; he was, however, dissatisfied with the arrangements made for Maggie's comfort, and he asked, "Can she not go to Glasgow with you, David? It would be a fine thing to have a little home for yourself there, and Maggie to look after your comfort. You would study better."

"I wad do naething o' the sort. I wad be keepit back by ony woman. There is many a ceevil word to say to them, that is just time and strength ta'en from study. Maggie kens weel, that when I hae my kirk, she'll be first and foremost wi' me. I'll count nae honor or pleasure worth the having she doesna share. Forbye, sir, when you hae a hame, and the plenishing o' it, folk should think lang ere they scatter it to the four winds. It is easy to get rid o' household things; whiles, it is maist impossible to get them thegither again. I might die, and Maggie be left to fight her ain battle. If it should come to that, Hame is a full cup; Hame is a breastwark; you can conquer maist things on your ain hearthstone."

"Perhaps you are right, David."

"I ken weel I am right. Maggie and I hae thocht o' every thing; her gude name, and her happiness is my first wish. She is vera dear to me. She is a' I have, sir."

"I shall not be in Pittenloch for two years, David, so I will pay you now for the use of my room. The rent I believe is seven shillings weekly, that is £36. I wish you would give this sum entire to Maggie. I should like her to feel in some measure independent; and I should like you to feel that you had no necessity to take thought about her from week to week."

"Thank you, sir, for the kind thocht, as weel as for the siller; and I shall tell Maggie to keep the knowledge o' it from her aunt, who is a woman o' a vera parsimonious disposition."

"Also my boat is to be hers. She can hire it out or she can sell it. It is absolutely her own. It would be folly for me to keep it rocking at anchor, and rusting away. I can not speak to her on such subjects, but you will be sure and make her understand, David."

"'Deed sir, I'll tak' care that she gets the gude o' all your kindness. It's mair than thochtfu' o' you; and I'll hae nae need noo, to let Maggie step in atween me and my ain proper duties."

Then they went to the boat together, and David removed all his books and belongings from her, and she was made ready to go for Aunt Janet the following morning. The rest of the day went rapidly by, Allan had many visits to make, and some special tokens of regard to leave. Then they had tea together at Maggie's fire-side, and Allan watched her once more stoop to the glowing turf, and light the little iron cruisie, and rise with the light from it on her beautiful face. The simple household act was always one of meaning and interest to him. He renewed in it that moment of strange delight when he had first seen her. This evening he tried to catch her eyes as she rose, and he did so, and what did she see in his steady gaze that brought the happy blood in crimson waves over her throat and face, and made her eyelids shine with the light that was underneath them?

CHAPTER VIII

THE BROKEN SIXPENCE

"I love you, sweet: how can you ever learn
How much I love you?" "You I love even so,
And so I learn it." "Sweet, you cannot know
How fair you are." "If fair enough to earn
Your love, so much is all my love's concern."

"Ah! happy they to whom such words as these
In youth have served for speech the whole day long!"

David left early in the morning for Dron Point, and Allan went to the pier with him, and watched the boat away. It was not a pleasant morning. There had been, all night, surly whiffs of rain, and the sky was full of gleam and gloom and guest.